


THE (NOT SO LONG) WAY TO TRUST

by AgnesClementine



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-08-27
Packaged: 2019-07-03 10:41:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: Mick realizes just how much Len trusts him.





	THE (NOT SO LONG) WAY TO TRUST

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something that I cooked up. I hope it makes sense because I haven't re-read it.
> 
> Comments are always welcome and I hope you guys like it!

Mick is not a drinker. Not really. His father has spent the last few years of his life in the armchair with a bottle in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He was disappointed and angry with the country he served and more often than not all work fell on his mom. So Mick never really understood the appeal.

But he has his moments, in a bar or just hanging out with Len on rare nights when Lisa is at a sleepover or Lewis is outside the city. His dad was never violent, useless if anything when he got drunk, so Mick figured he could loosen up a little. He thought he was in clear, safe ground.

And he was informed, by Len, that he’s surprisingly cheery drunk. So there’s that. But besides that, Len never said a word about drinking and Mick never questioned it. Until now.

They’re in some random bar, further away from their usual neighborhood (because they might have been waiting for the dust to settle from a brawl they had that Wednesday with some suspicious characters) and the place is absolutely packed. They had to elbow their way to the bar.

So they’re two rounds in, Mick’s not even properly buzzed, and Len drew a short straw and slipped out of the booth they claimed to go squeeze his way to the bar for more drinks. Bartender asked him for ID when they came in (Len showed him the fake one although he is in fact 21) and Mick can barely see him, leaning over the bar and rolling his eyes when the bartender presumably asks him to repeat his order. This is normal behavior for Len, _except_ \- except there is something wrong. The way he holds himself, a bit too straight and a bit too tense in shoulders- even Mick barely notices it- and how his eyes have a cold, evaluating edge in them.

Len is absolutely not comfortable.

And then some jackass slings an arm around his shoulders, laughing and pulling him against his side and Len’s eyes go wide and terrified for a split second. Mick is shoving his way to them even before the guy puts his hand on Len’s cheek- he doesn’t go for a kiss or anything, but Len doesn’t even seem to be breathing anymore. He’s just standing frozen on the spot.

Mick pushes the guy away without a word, immediately planting himself between him and Len. The guy is so out of it, blinking slowly at Mick before hanging himself over some other poor bastard within his reach.

Len is still quiet behind him and Mick reaches out blindly for his wrist. He leads them outside quickly, shooting daggers at anyone looking at them. When the crowd finally thins in the parking lot, Len starts walking alongside him, apparently out of his shock, but doesn’t tug his hand out of Mick’s grip.

“Sorry for freezing on you,” Len says, but it’s not his ‘pun’ voice and it’s too quiet, “I don’t really like drunks.”

Mick’s stomach does a flip- and not the pleasant kind either- because he’s such a moron. Len’s father is an abusive alcoholic; of course he doesn’t like drunks. Doesn’t like is even too nice way to put it. _Fuck_ , and Mick’s been dragging him around bars since he was 18 and getting drunk around him _himself_. He can’t even imagine how terrified he made Len feel.

He stops when Len starts resisting, lets go of Len’s wrist only for Len to take his hand instead.

“I can hear you thinking,” Len tells him.

Mick is still looking at their hands. It’s not- they’re not putting a label on anything, but there’s definitely something between them. And this quiet sort of acknowledgment; they both know it’s there and they both know that _the other knows_ , but neither is doing anything about it. Mostly because Mick’s letting Len pace it and because Len is just tentatively dancing around it. He’d probably kill Mick if he could hear his thoughts.

“You didn’t say anything.” He says, then immediately wants to punch himself in the face. “I’m sorry.” He amends.

Len looks at him questioningly, “About?”

“This.” He scoffs at himself, “I just, well, I assumed that you were okay with me drinking because you never said anything. Which is an asshole move, I know. So I’m sorry for putting you in that position.”

“In that-“ Len cuts himself off and narrows his eyes at Mick, “you’re not Lewis.” He says sharply.

“I know, but-“

“No. Mick, I don’t have a problem with it.” He says. Mick realizes they’re near their car and they both start towards it, preferring to have any kind of discussion behind a closed door. Even if they happen to be car door.

“Len, that guy draped himself over you. I might get a bit out of it when I get really hammered, but I don’t lose my memories. That’s pretty much the exact thing I do.” Mick argues.

Len sighs. “It’s not that- that’s different.”

“Different? How?” Mick will to his dying day deny the frantic tone in his voice.

Len blinks at him in that way he does when Mick asks something that’s supposed to be obvious; it’s equally adorable and sarcastic. And that says something about Len because before Mick met him, he didn’t know people could _blink sarcastically_.

“It’s you.” Len says with a shrug.

“Huh?”

Len groans. “It doesn’t bother me because it’s you. And because you’re making me talk about feelings- _this totally counts as Feelings Talk, by the way_ \- I’ll say that I know you. And I know that underneath the death and maiming threats, you’d never hurt me.” A short pause. “ _Badly_.”

“You don’t know how people can get when they’re drunk, Len. What if I have a bad day?” Mick tries to reason, although he knows it’s a lost cause. Len is more stubborn than a mule _\- it’s frustrating_.

Len rolls his eyes, “I’ll hide the liquor and smack you over the head with a pan if you try something.” He deadpans, then sobers up, “I’ve survived Lewis alone for most of my childhood, Mick. You better believe me I’m not going to let another drunk bastard step over me-”

_If you only wouldn’t let Lewis do it_ , Mick thinks mournfully, but that’s a conversation for another day.

“I can take care of myself.” Len ends firmly and his eyes lose their usual sharpness. He shrugs again. “Besides, you won’t hurt me.” He repeats with so much conviction that Mick’s chest hurts. Len is four things; stubborn, mouthy, dramatic and paranoid. So this level of trust, no matter that Mick did save his life, is overwhelming. It’s the eyes, he thinks, clearer and softer.

“But Len- How do you know that?” He was not prepared for this when he got out of his apartment today.

Len smiles at him, no teeth like his usual grin, just this little upturn in the corners of his lips. “It’s you. I just know.”

And Mick reaches over, to the passenger seat, to Len, reaches through that something between them and slips his hand back to cradle the back of Len’s head. Then he kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, his forehead.

Len snorts, currently tucked in the crook of Mick’s neck, but Mick can see the blush heating up his skin.

“Wow, I pour out my heart and I don’t even get a real kiss.” He complains and Mick grins.

“I’ll give you a real kiss.” He promises and ducks down to fulfill it.


End file.
